


Come Home

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: Luke saves Han from the events on Starkiller Base. Somehow, it only makes things more complicated.





	Come Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yujacheong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/gifts).



Cheers and excitement blare through every channel as news spreads across the Resistance network. Starkiller Base is dust and shrapnel, its cloud of destruction fading into nothing as the fire dies out. First Order shuttles swarm the void around it, panicked in retreat. The light has triumphed. Darkness has been beaten back. The galaxy, for now, is safe.

Aboard the Falcon, its nav systems tuned for the victory march back to D’Qar, Han leaves the cockpit and rushes back to the central hold. He passes comms stations, hears the general celebration hitting feverish crescendo. Further along the corridor, the staticky rapture joins a much more organic buzz of chatter coming from the Falcon’s other passengers. The girl, Rey, excited. The trooper, Finn, awed and disbelieving. Chewie rumbling, loud and happy. The object of their admiration – the object of _everyone’s_ admiration, a hero and a living legend, now just like he always has been – fielding their questions with serene composure that masks the emotions Han knows he must be feeling.

Pleasure, to be surrounded once more by admirers after years of self-imposed exile. Pride at the devastating success of his timing, his arrival in the heat of battle at the very moment when all seemed lost. Anticipation of the warm, grateful welcome that awaits him on D’Qar.

‘Han.’ Luke turns when he enters the hold, eyes warm and smiling, hand outstretched. ‘Not my favourite way to meet, but I think, given the circumstances–’

He never finishes the sentence. Finn backs away, guarded; Rey leaps from her seat, ready for a fight; Chewie goes still. Han ignores all of them. He’s too busy slamming Luke back into the wall by the neck and glaring him straight in the eye, willing his anger to burn through Luke’s retinas and into his wretched, self-satisfied brain.

‘He was turning,’ says Han. Doesn’t scream the words, but only just.

Luke’s voice is barely more than a gurgle as shock expels the air from his lungs. ‘Han–’

‘My son,’ says Han, ‘was about to come home. He was scared. He was confused. He was reaching out to me–’ He breaks off, his own voice momentarily falling prey to an anger so hot he’s afraid it might scorch him alive.

‘He was going to kill you,’ Luke rasps. ‘Han. I’m so sorry. I felt his intentions, and I–’

‘No. He was about to turn, and then _you_ came charging in with your lightsaber drawn and drove him away.’ He swallows. Forces murderous bile and other bitter accusations back down into his gut where they belong. He doesn’t need them. He has the only weapon he needs. ‘Again.’

Luke’s face crumples, eyes widening, and Han jerks his hand away and leaves the hold.

He’s hurt Luke. Good. But it doesn’t lessen his anger, or his grief. And it doesn’t undo what’s been done.

 _It’s too late,_ Ben had said, standing out on that bridge over nothingness, trembling all over in the stupid black robes he’d never have worn before Snoke rewrote him.

 _No it’s not,_ Han had promised. _Leave here with me, come home. We miss you._ He’d seen, almost heard Ben’s heart skip a beat. He’d felt his son’s pain, that desperate grief and longing he was moments away from caving into. Home. Safety. His parents’ embrace. All within reach.

And then Luke fucking Skywalker had arrived. To save the day. To put things right.

To chase Ben away to where Han will be lucky if he ever sees him again.

* * *

‘I’m not asking you to forgive me,’ says Luke, sitting stubborn across the table as Han pours himself another whiskey. He sounds much less pleased but just as unbearably self-important as he did on Starkiller.

An extra finger’s worth, just for that.

‘I’m asking you to listen,’ Luke forges on. ‘You have no idea of the danger you’re in.’

‘I thought you already saved me,’ says Han, voice thick with irony and the afterburn of a few too many drinks. His mouth tongue feels like it's on fire, but that's fine. He didn't choose this whiskey for its taste. ‘Some rescue that was, if I’m still in so much danger.’

Luke closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. ‘Han,’ he says, like he’s talking to a child, or to someone far more intoxicated than Han intends to get tonight. ‘I saved you from the immediate consequences of letting your son come any closer with his lightsaber. We’re still in the middle of a war, and Snoke is furious that I spoiled his plans. I have no idea why he hasn’t already sent his fleet to burn this whole base to ashes, but I have a very strong feeling it has something to do with Ben. And I think, when they do arrive, you’re going to wish you’d evacuated sooner.’

Han sips, swirling the whiskey around his mouth. Wood. Smoke. Caramel, not sweet but sharp and burnt like the charred bits stuck to a baking tray. And alcohol. Mostly alcohol. ‘Everything’s packed to go, Luke. We can be airborne the moment our perimeter alarm goes off. So maybe you can lay off the heroics for _five goddamn seconds_ and let me drink away the mental image of you menacing my son with a laser sword in peace.’

‘Menacing?’ Luke curls his lip. ‘You saw our fight, and I’m not too proud to admit he almost had me. He flails his weapon around like a club, but Force alive, that power–’

‘Why did you come back?’

Luke falls quiet for almost five full blissful seconds. Too good to last, of course. ‘Han,’ he says again at last, in that same obnoxiously patient voice. ‘The First Order–’

‘Yeah, the First Order’s coming and we’re all in danger. I know. We’ve been in danger for a long time. People have been _dying_ for a long time. But the moment you see a chance to try and prove you were right about Ben the first time, here you are with bells on.’

Finally, Luke’s smug shell cracks. ‘Is that why you think I came back?’

‘Sure looks that way.’

Luke sits quiet for so long that Han can only assume he’s won the fight. Fine – winning fights is what he does. Quick to the draw, that’s him, as good with his words as with a blaster in his hand. Another large sip to celebrate his victory. The alcoholic burn is the next best thing to any actual feeling of satisfaction, which he can’t quite seem to muster just now. Luke looks diminished. He seems to shrink as his shoulders slump forwards.

‘Do you have another glass?’ he asks finally.

‘Not for you,’ says Han.

Luke sighs. Serene Jedi knight, stuff of legends that he is, he snatches up Han’s cheap whiskey and takes a deep, long swig straight from the bottle.

‘I wasn’t meant to intervene,’ he says. First to Han, and then when Han refuses to meet his gaze, to the rim of the bottle. ‘I wasn’t meant to intervene, my meditations made that clear. But it was you. Force and fate be _damned_ , it was you, and I couldn’t just sit back and watch you die. I won’t ask you to forgive me, Han. You don’t have to believe me about what Ben’s become. You can spend the rest of your life hating me and blaming me for the loss of your family – I don’t care. You have to be alive to hate me, and at least for now you’re still alive. That’s why I came back.’

Han doesn’t want to feel what he’s feeling. Doesn’t want to feel anything, really. He knocks back the rest of his drink and holds the empty glass out for Luke to refill.

He’s been gone so long. Not a word, not a sign of life since that botched night at the temple. ‘You sent me a holo,’ Han says. ‘A fucking holo to tell me that my only child had fallen to the dark side and that you and him were mortal enemies now.’

‘I know,’ says Luke. Soft. Quiet. Devoid of emotion as he pours a stream of amber liquid into Han’s cup.

A few more drinks in, Han’s throat loosens up a little. The lump’s still there but it feels less like it’s about to choke him. ‘How the fuck was I supposed to make sense of any of it? Light, dark, balance in the Force, whatever – that’s your area of expertise. I needed you to be there to explain. But you weren’t.’

‘I know,’ says Luke again.

‘And now you’re saying he would have killed me but you don’t know jack shit. You’ve been off by yourself being a Jedi hero for so damn long, I think you’ve forgotten how family works.’

A long pause. ‘I know,’ Luke says at last.

And now Han’s run out of things to say. Almost. All but one. The words prickle in his liquor-washed throat. ‘I missed you. Damn it, Luke, I missed you.’

Luke doesn’t answer that.

They keep drinking, and make it a respectable way through the bottle before it all starts to feel too much. Luke seems strangely sober – he’s had less than Han, or else he’s holding it better. The room is blurry. They’re sharing a couch now (which of them moved?) and as the world’s spinning starts to get out of control, Han rests his head on Luke’s shoulder to steady it.

‘I missed you,’ he says again, thickly. ‘Selfish fucking asshole.’ And then: ‘Still don’t – hic – forgive.’

Luke’s voice is a warm rush of breath against his ear, and his voice is clear. ‘I know, Han. I know.’

* * *

The sky breaks open while they’re both still asleep, curled up on the too-small couch with their limbs entwined and their shared breath stale. Dimly, Han registers a lot of yelling and _They’re here_ and _How much longer will our planetary shields hold?_ Someone pulls him up. Drags him half-catatonic through the hangar and up the Falcon’s boarding ramp.

_Against that much firepower, they might as well already be down._

The world lurches. Debris hammers the hull and stokes the pain in Han’s head almost to breaking point.

_We need to get airborne right now! Get that gate clear, and tell the – fuck, is that Kylo Ren?_

Han goes back to sleep. Or passes out. The technicalities aren’t important.

When he wakes again, wakes properly, he’s on the floor of the Falcon’s cockpit and there’s nothing through the viewport but the blur of hyperspace. He’s propped up against the pilot’s seat, leaning back on a pair of linen-clothed legs. A hand rests on his head, stroking, tracing lines over his scalp and combing the hair back from his temples. Everything hurts. His face is damp.

‘I need a–’

The rim of a cool glass presses against his lips. The dry-salty tang of electrolytes and soluble analgesic. It helps the hangover, but not the actual pain.

Because what Han couldn’t process in his drunken state is crashing into him now. He’s missed the drama of the evacuation, missed all the shouting and the panic and the violence, but he’s had enough experience of those in his lifetime to recognise the aftermath and read its implications loud and clear.

They’ve evacuated. The base on D’Qar is no more. Ben came home, after all – but he didn’t come to make amends.

Luke was right. Deep down, Han suspects he might already have known that. He just didn’t want it to be true.

‘Where are we going?’ he asks. ‘The Resistance–’

‘They’ll be fine,’ says Luke. That’s when the last piece of data clicks into place: the Falcon. Not the Resistance flagship. Not one of the designated escape shuttles. ‘I’ve had contact on the comms – the Order fleet gave them some trouble, but they made it through the blockade and they’re en route to a safer base as we speak.’

‘So you’re running away. Again.’

‘Han,’ says Luke, voice heavy. ‘I didn’t come back to rejoin the war. I only came back for you.’ He sighs. ‘I’ve broken every rule in the Jedi handbook to get you this far, but if you want to go back, I won’t stop you. I’ll disembark on the nearest habitable planet and you can fly back alone to be as big a hero as you want. But I think the galaxy’s had more than enough of my intervention.’

‘And if I don’t want to go back?’ Han breathes deep. ‘Just – tell me. I’m not saying anything. I’m weighing my options.’

‘I know a place,’ says Luke. ‘I don’t know if you’ll like it – it’s not much for booze and card games. But it’s safe. Quiet. Hard to find.’

‘Quiet sounds good,’ Han says, even though he hasn’t decided yet, can’t possibly decide with this much hanging in the balance. He sits up off Luke’s legs and eases his way towards standing. ‘Fuck, my head hurts.’ And then: ‘Luke. Just tell me. Why is this happening?’

He’s expecting evasions, or platitudes, or some weird and indecipherable piece of Jedi wisdom. He’s not expecting Luke to pull him down and press a fast, hard, scratchy kiss on his mouth. He’s sure as hell not expecting to _return_ the kiss, but if there’s one thing life has taught Han, it’s that shit happens sometimes. And right now shit is happening a lot.

All these years of knowing each other and never once doing anything like this. All these years, and suddenly it feels like they’ve been kissing each other since the day they met.

‘That’s why,’ says Luke when he breaks away. He doesn’t mention Han’s hangover breath or the drying tear tracks on his face.

It’s still not okay. It’s probably never going to be okay.

But as the warmth of Luke’s mouth fades from his lips – as he excuses himself from the cockpit, to go brush his teeth and maybe find a change of clothes to lessen the smell of stale alcohol around him – Han thinks he might be beginning to understand Luke’s reasoning.


End file.
